Grandma Sparrow
by Jaina Kenobi
Summary: Only one woman could get away with this! Plot bunny that attacked during an episode of Spongebob Squarepants starring, of course, his grandmother. Rated for mild language.


Watching Spongebob can do things to your mind. I was watching the episode with Spongebob and his grandma, and this little plot bunny started eating my mind. The only way to stop him was to write this, so here goes!

**Disclaimer:** Jack and the crew aren't mine. In fact, the only character here who I could claim is Grandma Sparrow herself, but I prefer to let her keep herself. Oh, and I don't own Spongebob Squarepants (or HIS grandmother), either.

* * *

It had been a wonderful year. 

Mind, a year to Jack Sparrow didn't follow the traditional January-to-December limitations. He measured time based on a slightly different standard, which had three divisions: Before Barbossa, Hell, and After Barbossa. And today was exactly one year since he'd regained his ship and set out to continue his piracy despite the best efforts of Barbossa and the entire British Royal Navy: one year "AB." Which made it ample cause for celebration, in Jack's mind.

Translation: it was a damn good excuse to find a tavern with good rum and lovely women, get soggering drunk, and have some fun. And it was a cold day in Hell before Jack turned up his nose at an excuse like that.

So he'd set his crew loose in Ocracoke, found himself a little tavern called "The Final Run," met a sweet little thing by the name of Marian, and proceeded to enjoy himself greatly in celebration of his successful year. Marian was the best company he'd had in years, and the rum tasted of caramel and spice, just the way he liked it. Yes, life was good.

Jack didn't even look up when the door banged open for the millionth time that night. He was too busy telling Marian how he'd killed Barbossa, a tale which, by this point, involved a magic banana and an entire fleet of British ships at his beck and call. To his delight, Marian was the perfect audience; she hung on his every word, obviously impressed, gasping or laughing or even clapping in all the right places. Jack was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Jonathan Theophilus Sparrow!"

Jack wouldn't have realized that anyone was talking to him--it'd been so long since he'd heard his Christian name that he'd almost forgotten it--if the voice hadn't been accompanied by a painful pinch of his left ear. He managed to turn in his seat until he could see his captor.

"Grandma Sparrow?" he cried in disbelief. He thought the old bird had died years ago, back when he was still trapped on the island or some such. Apparently, he'd been wrong.

Marian sniggered. "Theophilus?" Jack cast her a scathing glance and she slipped away, giggling uncontrollably. He grimaced, knowing that his reputation in this tavern was shot, and turned glumly back to face his grandmother. She was seating herself next to him, keeping his ear firmly pinched between two spindly old fingers. She had quite a grip for someone so old, Jack reflected glumly.

"Grandma, what are you doing here?" he asked as she settled herself in.

Grandma Sparrow certainly lived up to her name. With the piercing gaze of her beady little eyes, her long, pointed nose and thin, gaunt frame, she looked so much like a bird, it was uncanny. She even had the odd, disconcerting habit of cocking her head this way and that as one talked to her, in much the same way a bird might. She had to be at least ninety years old, and nobody could figure out why she wasn't dead yet. As for Jack, he claimed that she was just too stubborn to die (which was probably true). Still, once one was over the initial shock of her birdlike appearance, she was quite a comical sight, and as a result of the myriad of jokes she heard at her expense she'd developed a sharp tongue and a quick wit that even Jack admitted to being afraid of.

And at the moment, Grandma Sparrow was thoroughly ticked off. "Looking for you, Jonathan! Where have you been? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you for nearly fifteen years!"

Jack grimaced. "Will you let go of my ear first?" he muttered.

"Not until you tell me where you've been. You were supposed to check in with me once a month, and here I find you've gone off in your precious ship and not bothered to come see your dear old Granny for fifteen years? What were you thinking? Why, your parents..."

"Me parents are dead, Gran, and I've been old enough to take care of myself for the past fifteen years, which is why I _didn't _come check in with you. Because I'm not under your charge anymore, if you'd care to remember. Besides, I was kind of stranded for a while."

"Stranded."

"Yes, and will you let go of me bloody ear?" he shouted. He risked a glance around and realized with a slight groan that the entire tavern was watching with a great deal of amusement. _Won't be back in Ocracoke for a while, I think..._ he decided glumly. He risked a glance at Marian, who was still snickering. _Make that forever._

Grandma Sparrow let go of his ear, but only to slap him. "Watch your mouth, young man!"

Jack rubbed his cheek resentfully. "Don't think I deserved that," he muttered.

"What was that?" demanded Grandma Sparrow, her hand poised to fly again.

"Nothing," he answered sullenly.

She settled herself back into her seat. "Good." Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked her grandson up and down with no small measure of disgust. "You certainly don't care much for appearances, do you?"

Jack frowned. "What do ye mean?" He was almost afraid of her answer.

"Look at yourself! Disgraceful. What man wears his hair like that? Or what woman, for that matter? And beads? Honestly, John, don't you think that's a little feminine? What's this, a bone? Don't you think you've got enough of those _inside_ your body? And what is this nonsense--" gesturing to his bandana--"do you have to hold your hair on? Afraid it's going to fall off, are you? And your clothes! Why, I'd bet these haven't seen a good wash since you bought them. Your hat is in tatters, your coat's not much better, and _what _is this nonsense about your waist?"

"Me belt?" he asked dryly.

She wrinkled her nose disdainfully. "If that's what you want to call it. I'd call it a rag, I would. And couldn't you come up with a better way to carry your pistol than just jamming it in wherever? Really, John, I'd expected much better from you. And your face--what on earth are _those_?" She reached out one bony finger and flicked his braids disgustedly.

"Those, Gran, would be mine. And I plan to keep them that way, so you can just bugger off!" Jack snapped, swatting her hand away. "I didn't come in here to be lectured. In fact, I didn't come here to see you at all, so if you'll excuse me..." He stood up and made as if to leave, but Grandma Sparrow wasn't finished with him yet.

"Oh, no you don't," she said, grabbing him and, with surprising strength, forcing him back into his seat. "You'll sit right there and agree with everything I'm telling you, Jonathan, or you'll regret it."

Grumbling, Jack plopped into his seat and crossed his arms, staring at his mug of rum determinedly and wishing he would fit inside it. But that only fueled Grandma Sparrow's fire. She followed his gaze and snatched up the mug, sniffing it carefully.

"Rum! Oh, John, how could you? Such a vile drink..."

"Vile? You and Elizabeth! There's nothin' wrong with a good mug o' rum now and again! Nothing! If you go and burn it, Gran, I swear--"

"Don't you swear, Jonathan, I've had quite enough of _that_ for one evening. I'm not done with you, either, so don't go thinking you'll be getting out of here anytime soon," Grandma Sparrow snapped.

Jack sighed and jammed his hat further onto his head.

"That's better. Now, Jonathan, I know you're busy on your _Blue Diamond_ or whatever you call it..."

"The _Black Pearl_?" Jack growled.

"Whatever. All I'm saying is that you _could_ come by and visit me every now and then. I know it's hard to remember that there's a lonely old lady out there who's waiting for you, what with all the excitement you must have on the seas, but is it really too much to ask for a visit once in a while? Just so I don't die of worry?"

Jack snorted at that. "Worry don't kill you, Gran, or you'd be dead and buried fifteen years."

"Perhaps I was lucky."

"Ha! Lemme tell you somethin', Gran. We Sparrows? We ain't _lucky_. We make our own luck, or we die. An' I just been starting to make some luck, so don't you go and ruin it for me, savvy?"

Grandma Sparrow just brushed him off. "That's beside the point. All I want to know is if you'll come and visit me sometimes."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll track you down again, and we'll go through this all over again."

"And if I agree, you'll leave me be, 'cept when I come visit ye?"

"If you visit often enough."

Jack thrust out his hand. "Agreed." Grandma Sparrow took it tentatively (it _was _rather filthy) and they shook on it. He stood up and tipped his hat slightly, then sauntered out the door.

"Jonathan!"

Jack groaned, wondering if it was worth it. Finally, he poked his head back through the door.

"I will come after you again, boy, if you don't visit often. And we'll go through this again, and again, until you learn. So don't you forget. And remember, the inheritance is all yours... but only if I see you often enough to know you deserve it."

Jack didn't say a word as he left. But never again did a month pass in which the _Black Pearl_ couldn't, at some time, be found anchored in Grandma Sparrow's home port.

Fin

* * *

That was _so _fun to write! You've no idea. Honestly, it was piles of good times...

Reviews are always appreciated!


End file.
